


Disgust

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom - A. C. Crispin
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Not Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: All it takes is one push.  And he hates it.





	Disgust

**Author's Note:**

> An entry for Day 13 of Tumblr user horrificmemes' "31 Horrific Days v2" challenge. If you enjoy my writing, more of it can be found on my own Tumblr page - the url of which is the same as my username here.

There was no other way to adequately describe it.

Beckett was absolutely _repulsed_ at the fact that he was still so vulnerable, despite his unrelenting efforts to shield himself from his enemies – and he was disgusted with himself for not having _seen,_ ahead of time, that those who would _attack_ those vulnerabilities were not his enemies but rather the ones closest to him. 

The one, specifically, trusted by him – if he could trust at _all,_ that was.

He hated everything _about_ this little predicament. He hated how the dreams had stayed with him and he hated how they would _appear_ sometimes and sometimes not, with no pattern and no trend, only this erratic action that he couldn’t keep track of or predict.

He hated how sometimes, he’d scream – it wasn’t something he _knew_ either, since it was all in his sleep, it was inescapable, and every time it _did_ happen he was only proving them right. Proving them right in that he was weak, a _waste_ of life, never should have lasted past the first year. Sometimes he’d finally open his eyes, breathing fast and his heart thundering and Mercer would be _there_ as if he materialized out of the darkness itself, he’d seen everything and Beckett hated himself for _letting_ him see.

It was _disgusting,_ how someone of his rank, of his status and power and position should be so weak, so _easily_ able to topple. All it took was a push in that _specific_ direction that only Mercer knew of.

“Don’t be _ridiculous,”_ Beckett snapped, throwing the blankets off and stumbling to stand up. Mercer hadn’t moved from his place at the side of the bed and it was disturbing, but he wasn’t about to let that _affect_ him, or – 

“You’re _shaking,_ my Lord.” 

“Nonsense.” He couldn’t keep his hands still. If he tried to _write_ anything? It would be absolutely illegible, for sure, because all he could see was the hull of the ship that his face had been pressed into, he could still _taste_ his own blood, the rust on the manacles around his wrists. 

“You’re _hurt,_ sir.” It wasn’t an expression of concern. It was a fact. It was a taunt. I see you, I know you, you can’t hide from me no matter how hard you try. “Aren’t you?”

Mercer had pushed. And, subsequently, Beckett fell.


End file.
